


Undying Lands

by Moonraykir



Series: Even Dragons Have Their Ending [13]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Afterlife, Devotion, F/M, Fix-It, Gen, Ghost Kíli, Ghosts, Happy Ending, Romance, Stubborn Dwarves, True Love, Undying Lands, Valinor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-07 17:14:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8809237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonraykir/pseuds/Moonraykir
Summary: When Tauriel arrives in Valinor to find Kíli waiting for her as a ghost, she discovers that some rules may be bent and that the Valar should never underestimate the stubbornness of a dead dwarf.





	1. A Welcome

**Author's Note:**

> This story does have a very happy ending, but it has some bittersweet and sad moments at the beginning, in keeping with the themes of memories and loss. But don't be discouraged; the ending will be worth it.
> 
> Also, I assume that if you're a Kiliel shipper, you're not a hardcore purist. Don't be surprised that I exploit every single loophole regarding the afterlife and happily-ever-afters in this fic. I've conformed to canon as much as possible and improvised the rest.

It was not hard to leave Middle-earth, Tauriel found. Far more difficult had been her departure from Erebor several centuries earlier.

She had only dwelt beneath the Mountain for a short time, by the reckoning of her people, and yet it truly had become a home to her, in a way that even her own forest never had been. Under the mountain, she had married Kíli, and through him received parents, brother and sister, children. Odd, perhaps, that an elf should count her family among mortals. But she had.

Kíli's death had marked the limit of her stay in Erebor. Oh, she had lingered several decades more after he had been laid in the stone, but she had known that her time there was over. Her own children were grown and must take her own and Kíli's places beside their king, Fíli's eldest. And Tauriel, for all that she had grown accustomed to the swift passage of mortal lives, could not bear to remain and watch more things change.

So Tauriel had travelled Middle-earth once more—sometimes alone, sometimes in the company of one or two others—discovering new places far beyond those she had seen even with Kíli. And though she missed true fullness of joy that Kili's face had once reflected back to her, still she was content.

Increasingly, her wanderlust led her back westward until, passing once more through Imladris, she had chosen to follow the elven lord Celeborn, once of Lothlorien, on the last ship into the Farthest West. The thought of that distant blessed country now woke the same yearning she had once felt listening to Kíli's long-ago words of fire-moons and a world beyond her forest walls, and she was sure that, could Kíli speak to her now, he would have urged her to undertake this new journey.

Thus it was with wistfulness, but no true regret, that Tauriel had watched the last shores of Middle-earth, rimmed with the Ered Luin mountains—the place of Kíli's birth—slip below the eastern horizon. She had felt one last sharp, poignant tug, as if the ties to that old place were pulling loose, and then she had known release, freedom, peace.

And the joy of the open sea! Tauriel had never had a view of so much sky, untrammeled by trees or mountaintops, with the sea glittering beneath it like some great blue-green gem. And at night, there were so many stars, above and on every side, as if the sky surrounded her like an overturned cup. She often lay on deck and watched those stars in their slow, wheeling dance until dawn.

When the white shore of their destination had come into sight at last, a thrill of excitement such as she had not known in years passed through her.

And as her toes sank into the soft sand of the beach, she felt through the soles of her feet that this land was where she needed to be.

* * *

Legolas's house was easy to distinguish among the dwellings of the city. Its structure, though no less airy and graceful than the surrounding houses, bore the distinct sharp angles and straight lines of dwarvish architecture. Standing beneath the pointed arch of the entrance, Tauriel almost felt that she was back in Erebor once more.

Clearly the place had been designed by the dwarf who had once been Legolas's dear friend. Yet now Gimli, like her own Kíli, surely waited in the halls of his fathers.

Thrusting down the sudden wave of grief and nostalgia that threatened to overwhelm her, Tauriel pulled the bell.

There came soft footsteps, and then the door was opened.

Legolas stared for a moment, his expression blank with astonishment. Then he caught her to him in a joyful embrace. "Tauriel! By the Valar, you came!" He kissed her cheek. "I thought you meant to stay."

 _"Meldir!"_ She laughed and kissed him in return. "I, too, found myself drawn here. And I did miss you." Closing her eyes, she rested her brow against his, a gesture she still retained from her days among dwarves.

"Hello, cousin," came a rich, deep voice behind them.

Tauriel's eyes flew open, and she glanced over Legolas' shoulder to see her husband's kinsman, Gimli, standing in the doorway to the house. He was still hale and in his prime, the rich auburn of his hair and beard untouched by silver and his face no more weathered than before. Indeed, it was possible he looked _more_ youthful than when she had last seen him in Middle-earth.

"Yer the first family I've seen these few centuries," the dwarf went on happily. "What took ye so long?" And he held out his arms to her.

"Ah, Gimli! I never thought to see you here!" she cried, slipping to her knee and letting him fold his arms around her. Valar, how she had missed the warm, sturdy clasp of a dwarvish embrace. For a moment, she felt near again to all those who had ever held her so: Kíli, Thorin, Fíli.

Gimli chuckled. "I'll outlive Blessed Durin yet."

"But how...?"

"These are the Undying Lands," Legolas answered behind her. "There is great grace upon this place, and death does not come here uninvited."

Tauriel's breath caught for a moment. She regretted nothing about having lived a full life beside Kíli in Erebor, but still it hurt to think she might have had a chance to keep him beside her for eternity, had she come West sooner with him. _Kíli could have been beside her now,_ his _arm the one tucked about her waist..._

She forced herself to draw another breath and then kissed Gimli's brow. "It's good to see you, cousin," she said.

"Won't you come in?" Legolas asked as Tauriel rose to her feet. "We were just about to have supper, and I've opened a very fine bottle of wine. Though perhaps you would prefer to try Gimli's latest batch of ale?"

She smiled, truly glad at the prospect of a drink shared in the warm company of old friends.

"It's been very long since I've tasted a real dwarvish ale. I think I'll have that."

* * *

The following morning, Tauriel was returning from an early walk through the gardens when she came on Gimli sitting alone beneath the trellised porch behind the house. It seemed he was waiting for her, for he watched her all the while she approached, and when she was near, he called her.

"Tauriel Uzbadnâtha!"

She laughed; it had been many years since anyone had addressed her by that royal title. She had quite missed it, she discovered; that name was tied to many dear memories of Erebor.

"Master Gimli," she returned. "Good morning!"

"And how d'ye find the gardens?"

"Very beautiful. I especially love the little lilac grove at the bottom."

"Ye can give Legolas credit for all that." Gimli seemed as proud of his friend's accomplishments as if they had been his own.

"Oh? I saw some statues which I believe must be your doing." The marble sculptures of elven ladies had been incredibly lifelike, and Tauriel had not missed the fact that several of them bore a marked likeness to the onetime Queen of Lothlorien.

Gimli colored. "Just a few modest contributions. Ta balance out all the trees, ye know."

"They're very lovely."

"Come sit with me?"

After a minute or two of silence, during which time Gimli studied her intently, the dwarf finally said, "Tauriel, there's somethin' ye should know."

"Yes?" she answered cautiously. She could tell from his manner that the subject was serious. Was it something to do with an old grievance? Yet she could remember none from their time in Middle-earth.

Gimli continued slowly. "Ye know that when we dwarves die, our spirits enter the halls set aside fer us under Mandos' care."

Tauriel nodded.

"Well, Kíli— His spirit never entered those halls."

"What?!" An icy dread gripped Tauriel's heart. Had she been wrong, all these years, to imagine the spirit of her beloved Kíli dwelling safe and protected in the company of his departed kin?

Gimli's hand shot out to take her own. "Hush, lass; he's in no danger."

"Where— What became of him? Is he lost?" Tauriel wailed softly.

"He's here." The dwarf squeezed his big hand reassuringly about her own. "He's lingered outside the gates ta the Halls of Waiting for nigh on four centuries now."

"How? Have you seen him?" Just as swiftly as it had come, her fear now turned to a wild, inexplicable hope.

"No." Gimli shook his head. "Even here I canna' see everythin' an elf could. One o' those high elves, the Vanyar, first saw the ghost of the dwarf with elvish braids in his hair idlin' about the gate. The news got to Legolas and me quick enough. Like I said, _I_ couldna' see him when I went to check. But I could sorta sense him, the way you can tell someone's recently been sittin' on a stone bench. He was there. And still is."

"Gimli." Tauriel found she was gripping his hand hard. "I must go to him."

"Aye, I thought ye'd say that."

She turned pleading eyes to him.

"Will you take me?"

"O' course." He brushed a soothing hand over hers. "But ye must know there'll be little enough he can give to ye, even if ye can see him."

"I know." Tauriel smiled gently, grateful for his attempt to spare her further hurt and disappointment. She knew surely it _would_ hurt to encounter Kíli and yet be unable to touch or hear him, bodiless spirit as he now was. But if he still lingered outside the gate of the dead, he must have found no peace or comfort all these long years. Did he wait for her? Shouldn't she ease whatever troubled him and urge him to seek rest at last? She would not rest herself until she had done whatever she could for him.

"When can we leave?" she demanded, rising inadvertently from her seat.

Gimli laughed. "As soon as we've eaten breakfast. Let's go in; I'm sure Legolas has somethin' ready by now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> meldir - friend (masculine)
> 
> Uzbadnâtha - princess
> 
> The idea that mortals do not die in Valinor is respectfully borrowed from **kaotic312** 's lovely afterlife fic, [Because it's Real.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3191075)


	2. A Meeting

The gardens outside the halls of the dead were in twilight. They always were like this, Gimli had said, no matter what time of day it was anywhere else. Yet the groves and paths did not have a gloomy aspect. The place felt merely restful, soothing. The grass was faintly cool, but without the wet chill of dew, and the scent of lilies hung in the air. If she had not come here with a purpose, Tauriel would have been greatly tempted to lie down on the ferns and doze.

They came at last to great gates carved of black marble like a night sky laced with cloud, and set in the side a vast mountain. Tauriel had seen no mountain peak looming over the garden when she had entered. Yet here the mountain was, all the same.

The open space before the doors, where the path ended, was empty.

Tauriel's heart fell.

She had told herself, time and again while journeying here, that this would not be the reunion of flesh and blood that she longed for, but even so, she had thought she might at least _see_ Kíli. Even that hope had proven more than she should have allowed herself.

She halted, and a first unbidden tear fell. She would have stayed rooted where she was and wept, had not Gimli taken her hand and drawn her gently but firmly toward the gates until she was near enough that she might have touched them, had she wanted.

"Here," he said, his voice unaccustomedly gruff.

Tauriel tugged her hand free from Gimli's to brush the tears from her eyes, and then she _did_ see him at last.

The shape was dim, as if seen through mist or smoke, but he was clearly her Kíli. She recognized the clothes his ghostly form had assumed—they were ones he had worn when they were first married—and his hair was plaited into the two elvish braids she had given him to symbolize their betrothal.

His face lit when he saw her, and he came near. His lips moved, and she knew he said her name, though she heard no sound, not even of the wind.

"Kíli!"

Tauriel dropped to her knees before him, and he extended a hand to her face, though she felt nothing. From the look of unfulfilled longing in his eyes, she knew he remained as senseless of the touch as she.

"Oh, Kíli, _hadhodeg, hadhod nín_ ," she continued, and she knew then from his warm smile that he, at least, must hear _her_.

His lips moved once more without sound, and then, as if remembering that she could not hear him, he laid a hand over his heart. _I love you_ , he mouthed again, slowly enough that she was sure of the words.

"I love you," she repeated back to him.

Kíli gazed at her, his expression easing as some long-held tension seemed to flow from him. He made no further attempt to speak.

"Kíli, my one love," Tauriel said at last. "What are you doing here?"

His shadowed form merely shook its head lightly.

"What, _melleth_ , you will not tell me?"

He glanced back meaningfully at the gates behind him, then looked again to her and shook his head more deliberately.

"You will not go?"

He nodded once.

"Oh, but Kíli—" She took a deep breath. "You must go. It is your fate." It broke her heart to dismiss him, but surely his spirit was weary after all these years of waiting naked and alone, on the doorstep of the halls within which he might have found rest. How could she not ask this of him when it was for his good?

Kíli's lips moved, forming one word: _no._ He stared at her very steadily, and she knew that look: it meant his mind was made, and she might as well try to push the Mountain itself down as change him.

So she sat back on her heels and gazed up at him, while he put out insubstantial fingers to catch her tears.

* * *

That night, Tauriel wept as she had not since the day Kíli had died.

* * *

Tauriel went to him often after that, and the meetings fed a great sorrow within her. A voiceless spirit whom she could see but never touch, Kíli seemed at once both near and impossibly distant. After years of living with only his memory, to see his eyes and smile warm in response to her was a joy she could barely contain. And still it was not enough. She longed for the rumble of his voice, the rough warmth of his touch, the rich scent of him against her. Seeing him as a mere _fae_ , a ghost, left her more lonely, more _hungry_ for him, than she had ever felt in the years after his death.

Yet though being near Kíli made her ache, she would not—nay, could not—abandon him, any more than he could her. After that first day, she gave over trying to persuade him to leave her. She knew he would not, and that to ask him pained them both.

Thus the days drew on, and Tauriel marveled at how she alone, of all those who lived in the Undying Lands, had found a grief that this blessed place could not heal.

* * *

 Coming away from the dim gardens of the dead, Tauriel was surprised to find sunlight in the world beyond. She was never quite sure how long she had stayed in that timeless, twilight place. This time, her visit had lasted at least twelve hours, if not far more. There would be food for her when she reached home, she thought gratefully. Legolas was always sure to leave out a meal against her return. He was, as always, very kind to her. She must be sure to express her thanks. She had been far too distant to her friends lately.

Lost in her thoughts, she did not see Gimli waiting beside the pathway from the gardens until he had fallen into step beside her and taken her hand.

"Fergive me," he said when she started.

"Oh, it's nothing," she assured him. "I'm sorry I did not see you. I was... thinking."

"Ye do that a lot lately, it seems."

"I'm sorry!" she said again earnestly. "You are my friend and kinsman, too. You deserve better from me."

"Don't trouble yerself," the dwarf said kindly, tucking her arm against him as they walked. "It's good ta see ye so devoted to Cousin Kíli still."

"Oh, Gimli!" Tauriel nearly sobbed. She halted, and Gimli stopped beside her. "I am afraid he and I shall never be happy again until the world's mending." She took a shaking breath and continued. "I was healed, while I lived without him beside me. I believed him with his kin, and I honored him in all my deeds. But now... I fear there is no living, for here I am neither with nor without him."

"My dear, ye mustn't talk like that; not today."

"Today?"

Gimli beamed up at her, his face ruddy and cheerful.

"Ye've a summons from Mahal himself."

"A summons?" Tauriel felt herself trapped between honor and fear.

"Ye needn't look so stricken, lass. I'm sure the Maker means ye well."

"Gimli," she went on shakily when she could. "He will order me to stop my visits. Kíli has tarried here too long; Mahal will ask me to forget Kíli, and I cannot. Oh, I cannot!"

And tears fell over her face.

Gimli produced a handkerchief and gave it to her. As she blotted her eyes, he went on, "That may be. But I doubt it, meself. Kíli's spirit is Mahal's charge, not yers. If the Maker has a mind ta see Kíli move on, he'd look to it himself."

"You think so?" Tauriel refolded the handkerchief and offered it back to Gimli, who gestured for her to keep it.

"Aye." He slipped his arm in hers and drew her onwards again. "I'll come with ye, all right?"

Tauriel's fears were by no means soothed, but how could she refuse the kindness of her friends?

"Yes; I'll go, if you accompany me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _hadhodeg_ \- my little dwarf (diminutive form) This is Tauriel's special name for Kili from _So Comes Snow After Fire_ and the companion stories.
> 
> _hadhod nín_ \- my dwarf (formal possessive form)


	3. A Reunion

Tauriel remembered the great work halls of Erebor, yet the workshops of Aulë were vaster and more beautiful still. The ceilings stretched higher than any cavern in the Lonely Mountain, higher than any tree in Eryn Lasgalen. Every pillar, wall, and ceiling was carved in patterns by turns intricate and sweeping; and yet the effect was not crowded or busy. All seemed merely the testament to a craftsman's careful hand, guided by a wisdom that saw all parts of a work and suited them for each other without sacrificing each part's individual beauty.

"It's wonderful," Tauriel breathed to Gimli beside her, temporarily taken out of her fears for herself and Kíli by the sheer splendor of this place.

"Aye," the dwarf returned, his voice equally hushed. "The sight is still staggerin' to me."

Glancing down from the distant ceiling, Tauriel saw a smith—the Great Smith himself; there could be no doubt—now standing before them. He was taller than an elf and more muscular than any but a dwarf. His dark hair and full beard were bound in gold.

Tauriel dropped to one knee, her head bowed.

"Your grace," she whispered, not sure yet how to address one of the Valar in his own land.

Beside her, Gimli muttered something in Khuzdul.

"Welcome, Daughter of the Forest." Hands big, warm, and strong—not unlike her Kíli's hands—took her own and drew her to her feet.

Tauriel looked up to see Aulë smiled down at her, and she wondered how she ever could have been afraid of him. His broad face was kindly and his dark eyes bright. While he looked nothing like Kíli, still Tauriel recognized the same lively energy in his glance.

"M-Mahal," Tauriel stammered. "It was you. _You_ gave Kíli back to me all those years ago."

"I did." Pleasure rang in his deep voice, either at his recollection of that old request or at the fact that _she_ remembered it now.

"Thank you," she said, wishing she had more than those two words to express all that that long-ago answered prayer meant to her. "I have never received a greater gift."

The Vala smiled, his teeth flashing against his dark beard. "You love this one of my sons as no elf has ever loved a dwarf," he returned, and Tauriel had the slightly unsettling impression that it was he who now thanked her.

"I do."

"And he is equally devoted to you, as his refusal to enter his fathers' halls proves," Aulë went on, and Tauriel could not tell if he was pleased or frustrated now.

"My lord, I am sorry, but I cannot—" She stopped herself, fearing to be disrespectful by arguing with a Vala. Yet it was true; she could neither order Kíli from her, not keep herself from him.

To her surprise, Aulë ducked his head in deference to her. "It was not you, but I who made him as he is."

"Mmm?" At a loss for words, Tauriel made a soft questioning sound.

"I gave the Khazad strong wills and steadfast hearts so that they might resist the domination of the enemy. Little did I imagine one of my children might refuse to obey my own command regarding his fate." His smile was wry now, and Tauriel wondered if there truly was nothing he or any of the other Valar could do to oppose Kíli in this matter.

"I could not foresee his obstinance," Aulë went on. "No dwarf has ever wed outside his kind, not to one of the Firstborn. None has ever bound himself to one who could not join him in death."

Tauriel gasped inadvertently at this admission that Kíli's current condition was her fault.

"Nay, daughter, I do not blame you." Aulë smiled gently and lifted Tauriel's chin so that she met his gaze. "The fault is my own, and I must redress it."

Tears ran down Tauriel's cheeks. So she and Kíli would be parted at last?

"Don't cry, child; you have my favor. I am quite moved by the love you and Kíli share." He smiled, and Tauriel felt her last misgivings melt. "I have gained him a release from Mandos' halls."

"Oh—" She wavered on her feet, but Gimli instantly caught her arm and steadied her.

"There is but one thing remaining," Aulë told her. "Before he may be permitted to leave Mandos' realm, Kíli's spirit needs its proper house. Yet his body cannot now be recovered."

Tauriel checked her elation. Did Mahal not intend to provide Kíli with a new body? Was her beloved still to be trapped, a spirit, outside the halls of the dead?

And then beside her Gimli said readily, "I can make him one, from stone. Will that serve?"

Mahal smiled broadly, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

"Yes, that will serve very well."

* * *

 

Upon their return home, Tauriel immediately followed Gimli to his workshop, where she selected a block of marble of a warm golden hue. As Gimli marked it with chalk, preliminary to the first rough stages of carving, he looked up at Tauriel with a humorous glint in his eye.

"I could make him taller, if ye like," he said.

"Oh, no!" she protested, laughing and yet deadly serious. "Kíli's head must come to here"—she indicated her heart—"and not an inch higher."

Gimli chuckled and took down the measurement.

Over the upcoming weeks, Tauriel continued to supervise the carving of Kíli's new body from stone.

"You must give more curve to his shoulder," she would say.

"There is too much fullness to his lip."

"His waist must fit into my arm just _so._ "

Gimli readily followed her guidance, far more pleased than troubled to have such an exacting critic of his work. Of course he remembered the look of his kinsman, but he would not pretend to the knowledge possessed by Kíli's own wife.

"I do think this is the finest of any of your work," Legolas remarked one afternoon near the completion of the work. "I truly do expect him to draw breath and walk from the studio."

Gimli grinned, obviously flattered. "That's the idea."

"Something is still not right," Tauriel said from where she stood at the far end of the shop, gazing at the stone Kíli through narrowed eyes. "Ah!" She caught up a pencil and stepped to the sculpture. Gently cupping his face as if he were flesh, not stone, she carefully sketched a faint line over Kíli's right cheekbone.

"He must have a scar, just there," she said, turning to Gimli.

"Ye know this is a land of healing," he said amiably as he gathered his tools. "It wouldn't be wrong fer him not to have it."

"I know. But I would miss it."

A few minutes later when Gimli had finished engraving the mark Tauriel had specified, he stood back with her to regard his work.

"I do think he looks right," the dwarf admitted. "Though you're the one I wish to please."

Tauriel was silent for a few more moments. Yes, this was Kíli as she remembered him: almond eyes framed by loose bangs; lips about to curve up into a smile; soft waves of hair that fell over broad, muscular shoulders; an angular torso, in some places shaggy and still rough as stone; sturdy arms honed by bow and sword; robust thighs and calves seemingly poised to launch him into some eager action. He was a dwarf handsome and in his prime.

"Yes, he is ready," she pronounced softly.

* * *

 

Kíli's spirit regarded Tauriel quizzically as Gimli and Legolas unloaded the bundled sculpture from its cart. She had told Kíli weeks ago that she and Gimli labored over a project for him, but he had indicated he did not wish to be told what it was. Anticipation, it seemed, was one of the few pleasures left to him in his ghostly state.

Tauriel knew he believed her when she said the gift would make him happy indeed, though it was equally clear that he struggled to imagine anything that truly could be enjoyable to him now, beyond his beloved wife's own presence.

Having set the statue upright, Gimli and the elf prince stepped back to allow Tauriel the presentation.

She gripped the cloth covering it in one hand and gazed to Kíli's ghostly form. He stared at the cloaked shape, a look of doubt slowly replacing the curiosity in his glance.

"Oh, Kíli, it is surely much better than you think," Tauriel teased him lovingly and then tugged the cover off the sculpture.

His eyes widened as he saw the stone dwarf.

"It's for you; a second body of stone, since your first was lost," she explained.

He looked back to her, and Tauriel knew from his clouded expression that he thought she grasped at a fool's hope, to believe he might inhabit this stone as he once had a body of flesh.

"Kíli," she said earnestly, and she felt his attention narrow to her and her alone. "This was not our own scheme. Mahal has offered us this chance. He has gained your release from Mandos. But you had no body, so Gimli has made you one."

For a moment, Kíli's expression was completely unreadable, and then he simply flickered out, like a snuffed candle flame.

"Kíli?" Tauriel called. There was no response, and Kíli's spirit-shape did not reappear.

"What's goin' on?" she heard Gimli demand of Legolas behind her. "Ye fergit I can't see anythin'!"

"Hush!"

Tauriel turned to the stone Kíli, who stood as motionless and perfect as he had in Gimli's shop the previous day, then laid her hands on his shoulders and closed her eyes. For several long minutes, nothing changed: the stone beneath her hands remained cool and hard. And then, so slowly that at first she thought she imagined it, the sculpture warmed beneath her hands, grew soft and yielding.

Next Kíli's arms were about her, crushing her against him with a grip so firm and hard that he might have been stone yet. Tauriel laughed and opened her eyes to see Kíli's own eyes—eyes not ghostly grey or stoney tan, but warm brown with life.

"Tauriel! Oh, Tauriel," he cried.

Burying her face against his neck, she breathed him in with a laugh that was nearly, also, a sob: he smelled of pipe tobacco and the forge and cool stone. She wound herself around him, so eager to know the feel of him in her arms once more. He was all warm skin and rough beard, wonderful just as she had remembered. He found her lips and kissed her, gently at first, and then with increasing ardor, until she had to pull herself away from him before he led them both too far.

"Kíli!" she gasped. "You forget; we're not alone."

"Right." He grinned, his lips ruddy from her kiss. "I've been very desperate to do anything more than look at you all this time."

"So have I."

" _Amrâlimê_ , you're all I've thought of since I left Middle-earth," he breathed.

"Why did you not enter the halls?" she asked after a moment.

He chuckled. "Have you ever tried to make a dwarf do something he didn't want? It seems he can be even more stubborn when he's dead."

Tauriel nodded, recognition dawning. "Mahal said it was his fault, for making you as you are." She stroked a finger down Kíli's cheek. "I suppose an elf or a man might have entered the halls and accepted the separation, painful as it was. But you—you are a dwarf. You were made to resist coercion and to remain true. And so you stayed."

Kíli said, "I came here, because the place was pulling me, but even so, I could not make myself go in." He paused to smooth the hair back from her face. "It's odd, being dead. Things become very simple and very clear. Even stronger than the pull of my fate, I felt the pull of _you_. Taur, if I'd gone into those halls, we'd have been lost to each other till the world's ending, and I couldn't, my love, I truly _could not_ chose that, any more than you could wish yourself not to be."

Tauriel ran a fingertip over the faint scar across his cheek, and he smiled.

"I knew you'd come," he said.

"Oh?"

"You still had the runestone, and I trusted its promise."

Tauriel laughed for joy. "I felt myself drawn here, to these blessed lands. And you were why."

Kíli opened his mouth to reply, but before he spoke, his stomach gave a very loud growl. "Mahal's beard!" He laughed. "I don't think I've eaten in a hundred years or so."

"More like five hundred," Gimli put in then.

"Cousin!" Kíli pulled away from Tauriel and threw himself on his kinsman in an enthusiastic hug. "I'm glad I shan't be the only dwarf in Valinor. And Legolas!"

Kíli seemed about to launch himself at the elven prince, but Legolas thrust out an arm to forestall an embrace from a naked dwarf, and Kíli contented himself with nearly crushing the elf's hand in his own.

"Sorry," he added as Legolas gave a mild, yet not displeased, grimace. "It's been a while since I had a body. It seems I've forgotten my own strength. By the way, cousin," he went on, turning to Gimli again, "thank you."

"Yer welcome," Gimli returned with a laugh, and then threw a folded set of clothing at Kíli's head. "Now fer Durin's sake, put some trousers on. I've seen enough of yer naked arse these few weeks to last me the rest o' my life."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scar on Kili's face is from _So Comes Snow After Fire._
> 
> All right, now that I've finished this little fic, it's time for me to get back to working on the next chapter for _So Comes Snow!_


End file.
